


Country Pile

by dragongummy



Category: Hell on Wheels (TV)
Genre: Backseat driving (touching), Dubious Consent, F/M, Fingerfucking, M/M, Mild Language, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Racist Language, Restraints, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Smut, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:43:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongummy/pseuds/dragongummy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Cullen Bohannon has done his part in making the 40 mile stretch of railroad and Durant has now decided that he is more trouble than he's worth, so he gives Cullen an option. Watch Lily get raped or be Durant's own sexual squeeze toy.<br/>+ Bonus if The Swede sits in to watch other nigros pleasure Cullen<br/>+ Bonusx2 if Durant isn't at all what Cullen thought he would be. Would like Durant himself to keep the touching to a minimum, stroke of a hand through the hair or over the chest. Likes to watch.<br/>+ Bonusx3 If Durant tells others how to pleasure Bohannon.<br/>+ Last bonus I swear. If either the Swede or Durant moves his hair seemingly lovingly (your choice) out of his face while he orgasms so he can see his reaction. "You're a beautiful man," line would be gratefully appreciated...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Country Pile

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on Tumblr sent me this prompt and due to the abundance of what they wanted, I kind of got a picture painted...DON'T freak out with my use of some words like nigro and whore...it's the tone of the show. I mean no harm :)  
> I tried to get all the things from the prompt into the fic somehow...

Sometimes Durant let him watch. The Swede liked seeing Bohannon this way. Powerless and unable to apply any bite from his bark, unable to apply pressure with his presence. Here he was only but another whore. Legs splayed wide on the chair, thighs tied down with rope rough enough to scratch deep into his skin to leave marks. His hands were behind his back, bound together with little room to struggle. The only movement allowed was the bowing of Bohannon's back deep into the night when there was always a head or two between his spread legs. They didn't obsure the view nor the tremble of his body. Fingers roaming over the muscles of his powerful bare body, some even venturing far inside when instructed so by Durant. When those questing digits slipped deep enough inside was when Bohannon had trouble keeping quiet in the dimly lit room of Durant's living quarters. His head tipping back and his body jumping from the thrusts inside. And damn it all if the sounds didn't make The Swede harden in his clothes. Durant picked the ones who had respected Bohannon for his work in town and on the tracks(which included everyone including the nigros, he found). Maybe it was a small curtesy on Durant's part as to hope no one spiteful bit down on Bohannon or made anything too unpleasant.

Watching Durant now, the way _he_ was watching Bohannon panting against his restraints, The Swede had always known Durant always had a soft spot for the gunslinger. Always making excuses as to why he was needed in the town. The railroad, the railroad! He would raise his voice against anyone who defied Bohannon's authority even though the rabid man could do it himself with a look at someone over his shoulder. He kept the order, kept the peace. And people knew it. But it was after the stretch of 40 mile railroad was done that caused Bohannon to have no purpose. He was a goal oriented man, The Swede observed, and without an objective, he fell into drink. Caused fights, friended nigros and protected the whore dens. Durant decided to keep Bohannon instead of having him work in the heat. The Swede remembered the conversation as if it had happened only a night ago, though now it had been well over a year.

++

_"What are you saying, Durant?" Bohannon already had the tips of his fingers on his gun as Durant stepped closer._

_"It's either that or I'll have Lily Bell beaten and raped. I understand you're a brute, Mr. Bohannon, but are you telling me you would let her bleed out in the mud?" Bohannon had drawn his gun so quickly, but Durant was already pointing his own barrel at Bohannon's heart. Pushed it harder into his vest until Bohannon made a grunt of disapproval and lowered his piece back into his belt._

_"You'd best watch what ya say, you animal. I know you wouldn't do that to her."_

_"You seem to underestimate a lot of what I will and won't do. It's either you or her." Bohannon turned back towards the door while placing his hat on the top of his head._

_"I ain't no queer, you sick bastard," he spat. Bohannon paused with his hand on the handle of the door when he heard the gun cocked._

_"Neither am I, Mr. Bohannon, but I think I'd make an exception. And I'm afraid you haven't got a choice anymore." Bohannon turns back with an indecipherable look on his face. His hands go to his hips._

_"And you think I'll just, what? Bend my ass up for ya so you can take it? I don't think so."_

_"I won't lay a hand on you, Bohannon. We've got nigros and the whores for that." When Bohannon didn't answer and still had the same expression plastered to his face, Durant shrugged._

_"Mr. Gundersen, if you'd be so kind as to escort Ms. Lily Bell to the nigro brutes and tell them to-" Bohannon's teeth bared for a moment before he slammed his hand against the wall._

_"Wait."_

 

++

And Bohannon wasn't always so pliant. No, most definately not. The first time The Swede sat in, Bohannon couldn't hide the glare of hatred in his direction. His lip would curl back and would surge his body until the chair would topple to the wooded floor. Durant watched his struggles from a distance, waving his hand when guards from outside came in. He let Bohannon use up his energy yelling and snarling and bucking against the ropes until his wrists and thighs bled. Bohannon didn't take kindly to being displayed openly. He'd throw murderous looks at them both until an hour of daylight was left and he had retired his gaze to the floor. Durant was a patient man. He'd had to be to deal with Bohannon, the nigros, the whores, the horse thieves and the railroad. He sat and wrote at his desk until Bohannon finally sat still.

That's when Durant brought in the whores and had dismissed The Swede to stand watch at the door. But The Swede listened. He heard the cries of long pent up pleasure as Durant got Bohannon aquainted time and time again every night in the coming weeks to climax in front of him. 

Bound like a beast.

++

Yes, Durant favored Bohannon. But The Swede didn't know exactly how much until he started breaking his own word. He started by sitting closer and closer as the months went on, sipping on his alcohol as he watched the rise and fall of Bohannon's chest from close proximity. A few more months passed and even then The Swede saw his restraint. When Durant had tipped back too much drink, that would slip a bit more and he would run his hand down the top of Bohannon's thigh or up his damp neck. He would whisper things to those heads and hands below on their knees. Some men, some women. Durant would make Bohannon shake and moan with his guidance, and The Swede knew that he was witnessing something that maybe he wasn't supposed to see. But he hadn't dare say a word, not with his member so hot and strained against its confines.

The tendons in Bohannon's arms bulge as he nears his peak, and Durant's words come faster and more breathy as he watches. Short bursts of air escape the bound man's mouth as he hangs his head when he starts to visably quake. Durant whispers to one of the whores and The Swede catches the motion of an arm and a hand, and The Swede can only guess where those slender fingers are going. Durant places a hand on the inside of Bohannon's thigh as the man tenses and his head snaps back. Durant's actions confuse The Swede to a new level. He is giving the dog what he _likes_ , what he _needs_ to release. The whore's fingers are a frenzy in their speed, her mouth over Bohannon's shaft while another whore held his sac loosely to roll them in her palm with his spikes of pleasure. The near, affection was it? That he saw in Durant's eyes as he watched Bohannon's face during his release was when The Swede tipped his hat and decided to leave them. Durant didn't notice.

++

It had taken a long time to condition Bohannon to submit. Durant felt drunk on it, the power. Lily always said it would always be his downfall, his thirst to control the chaos. And Cullen Bohannon was quite possibly the definition of the word, both inside and out.  And he'd learned early on to always, _always_ keep Bohannon tied down. He liked to think that maybe some part of Bohannon craved it, almost demanded it from Durant without ever having to speak. He wanted to dominate the man.

So he did. He learned Bohannon's tempermant, which took many many months, seeing as the man was a closed book. He learned what he could handle and couldn't handle in terms of being touched. Bohannon liked it when you ran a hand up the expanse of his neck. He didn't like his nipples to be messed with, it made him growl and self conscious. He loved it when you pushed against the dimples in his lower back while being fingered slow and deep. And it took a while for Durant to catch that aspect seeing as Bohannon craved sexually what he _wasn't_ as a person. He was a rough, rampant and grizzly man but trembled at soft, slow and lingering touches. He hated (but loved) his inner thighs to be touched; it caused an immediate reaction.

But there was one thing that Durant has to always initiate simply because Bohannon wouldn't do it on his own. He wouldn't look at him. He avoided eye contact like the plague, even outside of closed quarters. And Durant realized very soon why. They revealed too much. Those gorgeous steel colored eyes that lit up when they caught any flame or light in the room. They fluttered when his thighs were touched. His pupils dialated when he was close to release. They glazed over whenever the clever fingers of the whores found a new passion spot.

Durant long since told himself that he wasn't taken by Bohannon. He'd repeated it over and over again in his head when he watched the man sleep.

Then there were nights like these where he watched Bohannon break. He'd break the cycle and not give Bohannon release for days, let him wait it out. Then he'd take him to the bed instead of the chair and tie him down all spread out like a gift. The whores of the night would get to work, and Bohannon just wouldn't be able to take it. He'd writhe against the sheets, bang his head against the headboard and the ropes around his thighs would strain at the pressure of his tremors. His hair falls in his face, some sticking to his forehead. Durant tells himself to sit back down, every damn time, and he can't. Every damn time. He kneels by the bed and smooths Bohannon's hair from his face. He needs to go sit back down and drink because he's never quite intoxicated enough for these nights.

This frightening, self loathing image of a man, reduced to this. Durant can never get over how much it pleases him to see Bohannon in all his glory bared out to him, _for him_. That he has tamed him. Durant tries to get up, tries to release the wet, greasy hair. But he only grips it tighter, forcing Bohannon's eyes to his own. He whispers endearments and encourages the whores in their work. Telling them what to do, what Bohannon likes, what he loves and _no, not so hard, be gentle at the tip_. He looks back up when he senses (he can sense it now) that Bohannon is reaching his limit. He pushes back some more of the stray hairs that have fallen to his forehead and leans in close.

"You are a beautiful man, Bohannon." He says it, he doesn't mean to say it, but oh he _does_ and he knows what those words do to Bohannon. It hits him where it hurts and where it heals and it sends him over the edge. He holds Bohannon's gaze as his body relentlessly releases, daring the other to look away. He doesn't, praise the Gods he doesn't. And there's a storm in Bohannon's eyes as he rides out the bliss. His mouth falls slack, low moans filling the air and the bed posts creak against the pull of his limbs as his body pulses in time with his shaft.

Durant tells himself again that he isn't taken by Bohannon. He wasn't a queer. He leans back on his heels as Bohannon stares at him with the faintest of smiles on his lips.

Damn it all.

 


End file.
